Till The End Of The World
by Peta2
Summary: "Zombies…I hate zombies." Making it through two world-ending apocalypses between the both of them, you would think the Slayer and her vampire consort would be more than able to handle the latest. But is anyone really ready to take on the walking dead? A Buffy/ Walking Dead Crossover Fic.
1. Prologue

Summary: "Zombies...I hate zombies." Making it through two world-ending apocalypses between the both of them, you would think the Slayer and her vampire consort would be more than able to handle the latest. But is anyone really ready to take on the walking dead?

A Buffy/ Walking Dead Crossover Fic.

This fic was written for a special purpose and is dedicated, heart and soul, to RaizingKain2001. Rating is yet to be decided.

Prologue

Spike kept watch while Buffy slept. He was down to fewer than five hours a day, now, finding it near impossible to close his eyes and see the horrible sights that went on in his head. Terrifying images that he'd never thought he'd see, not even if he'd lived to be a thousand. Not even a million.

They'd faced many Apocalypses—far too many to count—and not once…not bloody once had he ever thought the world would go completely arse over. Not with Buffy around to save the day. S'pose you had to know about the bastards first before you could stop them. Spike wasn't sure anyone saw this one coming. Definitely not Giles or Red.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as Spike leaned forward over his knees, a long, blood-smeared machete dangling loosely in his hands. The tip just barely cut into the floor, just enough to leave a shallow groove but not deep enough to get stuck. He studied Buffy, sleeping restlessly as she was won't to do these days, but not consumed by a nightmare that would have her wake amidst her own screams. He stood, contemplated her one last time, then crept slowly to the window, holding the curtain back just a sliver and felt his gut sink to his toes as he watched the herd pass the house by. The filthy, decayed bodies of a once healthy town, groaning their way past the one good thing in his life as she lay sleeping, oblivious to it all.

For twenty minutes, Spike stood, trying not to move even a muscle lest he catch the attention of these animated sacks of shit. The last few were passing when he felt Buffy sidle up to him, quiet as a mouse, her right hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of her scythe while her left snuck into his. She squeezed his hand hard, her body shaking as she watched the final one drag itself past, gammy foot leaving its own groove in the dirt.

Once the silence had stretched into minutes, the eeriness of it ringing in his ears, Spike relaxed and then caught his slayer as she shuddered and then collapsed in his arms.

"You shouldn't've got up, luv. You're still weak."

"Weak, shmeak. Couldn't miss another chance at seeing an undead horde not maul me to death, now could I?"

Spike helped her crawl back into bed, worry curling his brow as he watched her slight body slip under the sheet. He saw her sigh and knew what was coming. Knew it and hated it, though welcomed it as well.

"Do you think they're okay? I mean, Giles would have put them all on lockdown, right? You think he was prepared with food and water and everything?"

Her fevered eyes met his and Spike couldn't help but melt. He sat on the edge of the bed, swept hair from her sweaty forehead and gently manoeuvred her to snuggle into his side, her head resting on his chest in sheer exhaustion.

"Rupert would have had it all sorted before anyone had a clue what was happening. You know he's always one step ahead of an Apocalypse." For her sake he hoped it was true, though Spike knew he was likely talking out of his arse. They had Angel, at least. Angel could go out and scavenge like Spike could, could help to keep them safe, and the council was definitely capable of keeping the unwanted dead out, solid stone walls guarding them and all. But he doubted anyone was ready for this. No one could have suspected this. No one could have been _prepared._

Buffy nodded against his chest. "You're right," she said, squeezing him around his middle, her breathing becoming increasingly laboured as she fought back against the pain ravaging throughout her body. "You have to be right."

As she drifted into another fitful sleep, Spike let his head bang back against the headboard. He knew they were more than likely dead: Giles, Harris, Red and Dawn. Angel, he knew all too well, would have survived, but with everyone else gone he didn't know how much spirit the ponce had left to keep him going. Angel was close to checking out after the final battle when Gunn fell at his feet. When Illyria ran into the sunset and never came back. With no one left, would he be able to keep it together? Spike wasn't so sure, knowing that if he hadn't been with Buffy when the world went to fuck, he might have been checking out himself. He didn't feel confident that this world was going to make it, but as long as Buffy lived, he would too.

The bandage on her back was bloodied through. Spike shook, lifting the edge of it to take a look at the bite of mangled flesh on her shoulder, feeling his shirt rapidly dampening against her fevered body. He felt like weeping, seeing the way one of those bastard bags of decomposing dead flesh had marred her. Felt defeated as he held her and hoped against hope that Slayer healing could perform miracles.

He needed to clean the wound again. He needed to wake her and give her more pills for the pain and redress her shoulder, all while watching her burn and shudder and cough up blood. All while holding his grief in the deepest part of him so she wouldn't see how terrified he truly was. He'd lost her once before—well, twice if you counted his refusal to go to her after he'd returned in Angel's office. Reuniting with her had been the happiest day of his life, especially as she hadn't staked him the second he'd opened his mouth and apologised for being a gutless git. He didn't think he'd survive losing her again. He thought he'd finally be ready to walk in the sun, but not before taking out as many of the feral zombie fuckers as he could.

Spike squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears threatening to break free. He lowered Buffy to the bed, wishing this could have been like that other night when he'd told her why he loved her. This night he was lucky if Buffy was lucid.

Taking his place back at the window, Spike couldn't stop the tears from falling. He wasn't an idiot, though Buffy's mates had thought for years that he was. They'd been travelling through this hell hole long enough to have seen what happened when someone was bitten. He'd seen others succumb to the fever that took their lives, and he'd seen the clouded eyes that told them all the dead had risen, and not in the fun way. Not in the way he had. Not to _live _again, full of piss and vinegar, but to spread death until the entire world was wiped out.

Hearing Buffy's breath rattling in her chest broke him completely, and with the memory of those others in his head, Spike fell to his knees, gripped his head as if it was tearing open, and cried.


	2. Chapter 1

AN: OMG! I can't believe it but I've mucked up chapters. This is actually part one and the one I posted earlier today is part two, so, because I'm an idiot, I have this to fix and those reading actually get two chapters faster than I'd bargained on! I'm sure that makes you all mad as hell! Feel free to tell me about it

Part One

They'd walked a long time the previous night. Walked until Spike had found an abandoned motorcycle filled surprisingly with a full tank but covered ominously in blood. Without a word he handed their crossbow to Buffy to string across her back, propped up the bike, sat and waited for Buffy to climb on behind. The shock of the motor starting had Buffy gripping him around the waist, her head resting into the back of his jacket with an ease he appreciated after the years it had taken to achieve. Revving the throttle, Spike allowed one hand down to squeeze hers reassuringly, then returned it to the handle bars as he kicked off.

The freedom from talking was a welcome relief. He loved talking to Buffy, loved looking at her and in their current climate they had little else to do. Other than kill the dead. Once upon a time he'd have thought this life with her would be one of perfection—killing monsters with her permanently at his side. Their isolation changed that a bit, as did her near death almost a month ago. It should have been the moment where he reminded her that he loved her, but the words had never made it past the garbled speech in his head that he'd prepared in case she hadn't made it. He'd held it inside, fearing that she'd realise how terrified he was that she was going to die for the third time. Realise, and be angry at him for not having faith in her.

He'd been a fool. He should know better than anyone by now that his girl wouldn't go down without a fight. She'd copped a fatal blow that day they'd fought the First, the day he'd disintegrated into dust, and she'd kept on living. Against every set of odds in this new world they found themselves in, she'd been bitten and survived. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but he wasn't going to question it. It was what it was, and he was bloody grateful, all things considered. He had the love of his life snuggled into his back, her warm hands unconsciously stroking his belly and making him hard enough to burst the zipper of his jeans, and she was wonderfully, totally alive.

They'd travelled until Spike could feel Buffy's arms loosen around his body and he knew she needed to sleep. She could barely keep her eyes open as they dismounted the bike at an abandoned house, both of them immediately reaching for their weapons the second their feet hit the ground. It was quiet, Spike leading her into the house with his short-sword at the ready to shaft any unwelcome undead nit between the eyes. The house was miraculously clear and with his sensitive hearing, Spike proclaimed them safe for now. Buffy had completed her own quick sweep of the surrounding area, and he almost crowed in delight when she returned to him with a few apples in her hands, scythe hanging at her waist.

"Can you believe there's an apple tree out back?" she said, smiling like she'd discovered gold lining the pavements. Spike grinned, relieved she'd found some food so easily.

"Fruit? If you'd found a blood tree out there, Slayer, I'd have been more impressed."

She kicked his boot playfully before taking a huge bite, laughing as juice spilled from her lips. She moaned around the mouthful, then made her way through the house, her hand stroking his abs in familiarity as she walked past. Spike watched her walk, marvelling at her strength and courage as she wandered from one room to the next, scanning for the safest place to bed down for the oncoming day before collapsing on the couch in the front room. They didn't bother to try and board anything up, just made sure the curtains were closed. They had no need for anything but rest, and for the first time since this nightmare began, Spike thanked whatever God allowed him to be undetected by the ravenous horde that seemed to be everywhere. He seemed to be an undead deterrent and that kept Buffy safe. Mostly.

Her apple finished, Buffy curled up on one side of the couch, her lids already lowered as she drifted off to sleep. Spike covered her with his coat, and then inspected their weapons before he could allow his own forty winks. He needed to maintain the scythe and sword, their sharpness being essential to their survival—Buffy's survival. He'd snagged a crossbow from somewhere, not long after all this began and then the lethal looking knife he unclipped from the holder at his hips joined the group. In a flash he'd checked out the kitchen, looking for cloths or rags to clean the gore off with. He found a stack of tea towels and decided they'd be a good addition to their stash, taking them back to put in Buffy's bag of tricks. He took the sharpening stone from the pocket of his duster as Buffy slept and frowned when the Slayer didn't move. She didn't even flinch as the metal of first the scythe, then his knife struck the stone and his brow furrowed in worry. He knew they were pushing hard, trying to find somewhere safe in this inhospitable world, but he worried how long a human could really exist when constantly on the run. He was immortal; he could probably keep up this pace indefinitely, though the thought made him shudder. He knew Buffy could run longer than anyone, but even she had her limits.

He believed they would find a place—find people that didn't want to run them through with sharp implements the second their backs were turned, though the event of a Zombie Apocalypse seemed to turn human nature on its arse. They were both strong, warriors in a world that suddenly needed all the warriors it could get, so Spike knew they'd make their way somehow. He was just nervous, not wanting to tempt fate and have Buffy bitten again—have to sit terrified that the next time slayer healing wouldn't be all it was cracked up to be. She was a tough one, his girl, but even he had to admit she couldn't survive everything.

Hours passed with him contemplating their fate, his own body submitting to fatigue the second Buffy opened her eyes and went to find the loo, her newly sharpened scythe in her hands. She smiled at him gratefully before leaving the room, and Spike fell into unconsciousness on the couch.

Once upon a time, Buffy had had friends. More than she knew, if she was honest, but less than she'd liked. She'd had a house, with a sister and a watcher, a vampire in her basement, a functional bathroom and a closet bursting at the seams with fashion. If she was truthful she'd loved all those things—including the vampire in her basement—but what she really missed was hot water and a fresh change of clothes. She blocked out the image of Dawn, because as much as Spike reassured her that her sister would have been protected by Angel, if not by her friends and Giles, Buffy was realistic enough to know he could be wrong. _Probably_ was wrong. If she stopped to think too hard about her friends, she had a strong feeling she'd stop completely. Wanting to live in a world that was full of death was hard enough, but _needing _to live to give Spike his own purpose to go on, that was what Buffy was all about these days. She didn't need to spy on him to see he'd been checking out the sun. When she'd been sick and feverish, she'd watched him break, a little piece at a time, then caught him looking out the window with desire. Relief was painted clearly on his face and Buffy forced her body to fight the inevitable. If she died, he'd take that final walk, and if they were both gone, then who was going to continue looking for Dawn?

Buffy investigated the house while Spike slept. He didn't get enough of it and they were both operating just above empty most of the time, so she had to take the downtime where she could get it. She had a few clothes she'd managed to keep with her when the outbreak first hit. Thankfully she'd been wearing her favourite jeans and a brown leather jacket, and had enough foresight to have a small backpack with two spare changes of pants and tops, plus a generous supply of underwear, her toothbrush and toothpaste and a brush that she always packed for on the plane—just in case they lost her luggage. She'd learned the first time it happened, being stranded in a strange city with just the clothes on her back. On her meagre slayer salary she couldn't afford a new wardrobe every time they lost her things. She'd picked up a few extras in the houses they'd ended up in, though most of what was left were slim pickings at best.

This house had been owned by old people. She could tell by the one bedroom and the doilies that seemed to litter the house everywhere, like crafted snow that never melted. It was musty, abandoned, but Buffy could tell the old people hadn't died here. She hoped they'd been somewhere with family or friends, not stumbling alone out there as they died and turned. She hoped they'd been together, like she was now with Spike.

Buffy settled on the bed, her hand absently stroking the old-fashioned patchwork quilt in pastel peach, and looked around the room. It looked barely touched, a moment suspended in time while the world outside had gone crazy. A framed portrait on the wall showed a couple, probably in their seventies, smiling at each other at what looked like a cookout as someone eavesdropped on their moment and captured their love forever. Tears threatened to fall as Buffy wrapped her arms around herself.

It all seemed so hopeless, this life Spike and she were barely carving out for themselves. If they didn't settle somewhere soon, she didn't know what might become of them. It was stupid, dumb luck that put them in the middle of this without friends. Duty, always duty that left her alone or on the outside. Spike had just returned to her, barely having the time to apologise for not coming back earlier and for being Angel's right hand man in his latest foolhardy battle, before Giles had sent them away. It was under the pretence of hunting down more new slayers, but Buffy had known her watcher couldn't bear to see them possibly back together. Couldn't bear the guilt he felt at keeping them apart.

They'd landed in Atlanta after Giles's last discovery and had straight away headed out of the city, on the path of this newest slayer whether she wanted to know about them or not. Buffy had no idea how she'd missed the telecasts of this outbreak—that people were turning into zombies. Maybe she had heard it but thought she was dreaming. Buffy had encountered many things in her short life—including zombies—but nothing had really prepared her for a true-to-life zombie apocalypse. Nothing could have warned her of the scale in which the world would tumble. They'd been just out of the city, heading the opposite way to the majority of the traffic, when the bombs had hit. She remembered screaming as the impact had hurled their hired car forward, tossing it like a lettuce leaf in a salad bowl. When she woke up, Spike was dragging her from the car, blood pouring from her head down onto her face. And when she woke up again, they were in a house far, far away, but not far enough. Not out of Georgia, not away from the dead, not back to her family. They were stuck, and the only thing on their side was Spike's quick thinking to grab their weapons and her pack and get them the hell away from there.

As usual he'd taken care of her, and hadn't stopped since, even when she rightly should have died from that bite. The one she'd gotten the one time he wasn't watching her back. She knew he was almost crippled with guilt from her being hurt—she knew Spike loved her with a depth of feeling she'd never given him true credit for, or told him she felt in return. Apparently facing inevitable death wasn't even enough to scare the words from her lips. Every day that passed she felt she was closer to telling him, but that fear that he still wouldn't believe her kept the words bottled up.

Finally the tears fell and Buffy fell back on the bed, crying for her lost hot water and wardrobe, cried for defeat in Spike's spirit, and cried for the humanity she'd been unable to save when it truly counted. They still searched for the slayer. Who else could truly survive in a world such as this? It kept them moving, kept them focused and in charge of their own fate when the only alternative was to give up. Buffy had done that once before, and she was sure as hell it wasn't going to happen again.

She wasn't letting Spike take that walk in the sun. Not for a long, long time.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N…I must make mention that this fic was written BEFORE the second half of season 3 aired. Yes, it's taken me a time to post. Oops? I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. I'm a little surprised, probably not expecting too much of a following since I am a long time out of the Buffy fandom, but I appreciating your taking the time to read. Cheers!

Many, many thanks to Susan who betaed this chapter, and for Tami who is as always, my cheering squad when I doubt everything about myself.

Chapter Two

Spike rolled to a stop beside the car, put his hand on the bonnet and felt the warmed metal of an engine that hadn't been idle for long. He rode to the front of it and pulled over to the side of the road. Buffy jumped off the bike, heading back to the car to check it out. Before she could utter a word about the mystery, they heard gunshots coming from the woods. Without a single thought, she took off running into the trees and Spike sighed before following blindly after her. He caught her up in less than a minute, grateful for his vamp speed and eyesight for when she'd often run off wildly without warning through the night. The silly bint didn't seem to even think of the untold zombies floating around the countryside. Not even after she'd been bitten.

"How long has it been since we ran into a real live human being, Spike?" she threw over her shoulder, not even puffing when they'd been running full tilt for what felt like fifteen minutes, ducking and diving through trees and walkers—the latter littering the forest floor as they both cut a swathe through them, sword and scythe working together like they were mated.

He shook his head, an amused smirk playing at his lips. Her enthusiasm to meet new people filled his heart with joy. He hoped they found them, and that they were still alive when they did. That hope dwindled the more they heard of what appeared to be a gun battle, screams reverberating in the empty air around them. It sounded like war and once again, Buffy was running straight into the middle of it.

She slid to a halt behind a small group huddled behind abandoned cars, slowly lifting the scythe in front of her. Spike prepared himself—there was no knowing these days who the good guys were from the bad and for all intents and purposes, this lot, hiding from the sentry on the wall up ahead, could be the bad guys preparing to attack a town. He took a close look and sniffed the air. Blood hung heavy on them, and fear, and Spike knew without asking that these ones were escaping. From what he had no clue, but if they were running out into a world full of dead people that wanted to eat their flesh, he figured it couldn't be anything good.

A battered warrior stepped out in front of them, facing the other group which was obviously wary of—and angry—with her. Her dreadlocks, glistening dark skin and her wicked sword made Buffy gasp. The whole of the group turned as one toward them, brandishing every weapon they owned, but the ones worrying Spike the most were the guns. Guns might do some damage to him, but they wouldn't kill—despite everyone's penchant for the head shot these days—but Buffy wouldn't be so lucky. Once, she had been, but a second go round with a bullet and Spike suspected their last kiss would be a goodbye.

"Whoa," he said, stepping around Buffy with his hands held up to show surrender. He'd sheathed his sword and left himself defenceless—unlike Buffy and her scythe. "Don't mean any harm here. We heard shots and haven't seen real people for a while. Sla—Buffy was a bit eager to talk to humans, weren't you, luv?"

"You're British?" a young Asian boy asked, the words obviously painful for his pummelled face to deliver, and Spike wondered if he might be a bit giddy from a few obvious knocks to the head to be wasting his breath with such a stupid question.

Before he could make a snappy comeback about this boy's intelligence or priorities, Buffy put her hand on his arm and drew forward. He looked at her and frowned at the intent look she gave the scary bint with the sword, and the way she ignored the group with their guns trained on her head. "Spike, that's her." She took a step closer, the group aiming the guns right back at her with more fierce expressions on their faces than he'd seen when the home team was on a losing streak. "Oh my God, we've been looking all over Georgia for you."

Buffy lowered her scythe, stepped right up to the girl and held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Buffy, and I'm a Slayer."

A look of wonder passed over the other girl's face, and then she also lowered her weapon. As the sword came closer to the ground, it became obvious that this girl was injured. Spike could see at least three wounds, not including what he thought was a bullet wound on her thigh. Despite her strength, he wasn't concerned about her. Buffy had piqued enough interest with her that he thought it was peachy, but this other group still stared at them menacingly, distrust weighing the situation down heavily.

"I am Michonne." She stuck her hand out and Buffy clasped it warmly, sisters-in-arms without ever having known one another. Spike chuckled.

"Yippidy-bloody-doo, luv. Can we go home now?" Spike joked, wishing with everything he was that there wasn't half a world of zombies out there desperately trying to eat up those that were left so he could take his girl back home to her sister and friends.

"This is a really tender moment, but we're a little in the dark here." A man stood, getting in their faces, his eyes wild. By the way he stood—the way he took control of the situation, Spike could tell he was the leader, and if he wasn't mistaken, he suspected he might be an unofficial representative of the now defunct law. "Who the hell are you, what do you mean you've been lookin' for _her,_" he pointed accusingly at Michonne,_ "_and what the fuck kind of name is 'Buffy'?"

"Rick, we can't be worryin' about that now," said a young woman, her face betraying how much a deeper part of her was broken, despite how pretty she was on the outside. "We've gotta decide what to do. Are we goin' back in to get Daryl, or are we goin' home to work out what to do about comin' back to get Daryl?"

The one she'd called Rick looked conflicted, and Spike felt sympathy for him. Hard enough to make life and death decisions these days, let alone when in hiding, possible walkers streaming in from behind and being shielded by the dark. Spike could appreciate that this situation was less than ideal.

"We're goin' back," Rick confirmed, twisting round to look at the young woman with dark hair. She clung to the Asian bloke. Spike wasn't a complete idiot. These two looked like they'd been beaten and tortured, and in this world Spike knew there were some questionable characters benefiting in the end of days. It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that a different kind of evil existed beyond the walled off area just ahead of them, a man stationed at the top on watch with his big gun swinging back and forth.

"You've still got a man in there?" Buffy asked, throwing herself back into the line of fire. "We can help you." The offer was matter-of-fact and while Spike knew where her heart stood with helping the hopeless, he didn't think this group of people—with their physical and emotional wounds—was going to so easily trust her offer.

Rick looked like he was losing it, Spike sensing the rise of hysteria in the man as he threw caution to the wind and stood up, aiming the gun dead centre to Buffy's head.

"I don't know you," he said, as if that was enough explanation for his hostility—and maybe in this world, thought Spike, it was. He rarely betrayed himself these days, knowing that it could easily spook the most knowledgeable of people, but Spike knew some kind of diffusion was necessary if this little standoff was to progress to anything but a massacre. He'd almost lost Buffy to a walker bite; there was no way he was losing her to a human with an inferiority complex and a gun. Before anyone blinked, he was next to Rick with Rick's gun in his hand, clicking the safety back on and holding it in his palm.

"We don't know you either, mate," he said gently, trying to calm everyone down, but then he felt the tip of a sword at his Adam's apple and he was forced to look at Michonne.

"You walk with a vampire?" she accused Buffy, her voice full of disgust.

"Beats walking with dead people." Buffy stayed straight-faced for all of two seconds before she giggled. As she did so, she knocked the sword deftly from the dark slayer's hands and then trod on it as it lay in the dust. "Spike has a soul," she told the other girl as she locked eyes with her. "He won't hurt you." She turned to the others, her face soft and innocent. "He won't hurt any of you. We _can _help you. Let us, and then we can hash it all out later."

Exhaustion hung heavily on them all as they seemed to speak silently amongst each other before finally deciding to concede. That kind of conversation without words bespoke of a deep, underlying trust, and Spike felt a new respect for them rub over him. For once he was glad of Buffy's impetuous need to run into the thick of danger. It'd be nice to have conversation again. He'd always liked to talk, and these new people would be sure to have new things to say. He grinned happily as he absently rubbed the little nick on his throat from the other slayer's sword. Other slayer. The miracle of it was bloody brilliant.

"What do we do about Merle?" the Asian one asked, one eye swollen shut as he looked to their leader. "You think Daryl is going to come without him? Hell, he's probably in there now swapping survivor stories. He could be telling them everything about us now."

"Daryl wouldn't do that," Rick denied hotly, though Spike sensed a small amount of self-doubt.

"No?" the Asian said a little too loudly , his voice cracking on the word before suddenly remembering they were trying to hide and lowered his voice. "What makes you so sure?"

Rick seemed to need to think about his answer. He looked at each one of them, trying to find inspiration before finally realisation crossed his face.

"He found Carol."

"Carol's alive?" the brunette whispered, tears in her eyes. Rick nodded, his own pleasure at being able to give the news evident in his genuine smile. The two with bruises—internal and external—considered this for a while, then they both nodded, a smile settling painfully on their lips.

"All right. So, we go in, an' if Daryl is with Merle, he's comin' with us," Rick confirmed, then remembered the new members of this strategy meeting and he glanced to see if they were on board.

"Daryl and Merle. Got it," Buffy agreed, then that cute little look of confusion twisted her brow and Spike wished he could kiss her on the tip of her nose. "Uh, how do I know who they are again?"

"Just look for the rednecks, pet. With a name like Merle, he's got to be one." Spike looked away from the glare Michonne aimed at him and decided it might be best if he let Buffy handle her and he handle this Rick. Seemed the man was a little unstable; Spike sensed grief around the man that hadn't been fully dealt with. Despite the obstacle of his trust, Spike thought he might be a decent bloke, if given half the chance. "So, what's your plan?"

"I'm open to ideas," Rick said, exhaustion making him stumble as he settled back into a crouch behind the shelter of the car, but the only person who spoke was Michonne.

"We kill the Governor," she hissed, then bent down and retrieved her sword, Buffy's foot lifting to release it.

"Is he human?" Buffy wondered out loud, and Spike prepared himself for a battle.

"Barely," Michonne almost growled, and Buffy nodded.

"If he's human, and he has to die, then Spike gets to do it."

All eyes turned to her in shock, including Spike's.

"You haven't fed properly for months," she justified to him, and with guilt in his heart, he dropped his eyes and nodded. He'd sustained himself on sips from Buffy, supplemented from any game he'd managed to catch. He'd be eternally grateful to not have to suck down the life essence of a squirrel for a while.

Not entirely happy with the arrangement, Michonne turned to him, her eyes searing him with her distrust. "You may find him in the hospital," she said, and then a genuine smile touched her lips. "I stabbed him through the eye with a shard of glass."

All eyes turned to her, incredulous.

"He is sick and twisted," she defended herself. "He had severed heads in fish tanks in a locked room, and…and a young girl he calls Penny—turned and locked away with a sack over her head." She hefted a revolted breath and looked intently at Spike. "He must not remain alive."

Spike suddenly had no doubts she'd inflict heavy punishment if he got her brief wrong. The Governor was to die, and after the grizzly image she'd just painted, he wasn't going to argue.

The roar of a crowd was suddenly heard from within the town and they all turned abruptly, seeing the man on watch turn away from what wasn't happening outside his town to look at the action going on inside it.

Rick was all business. "Glenn, you go back to the car with Michonne. Neither of you are fit enough for this fight and I don't want to lose you," he said, but he was only looking at Glenn as he mumbled the words. Michonne nodded at him, knowing herself that her strength was better spent trying to save the Asian boy she'd just led them to rescue. "Maggie, you can go with them if you want, or you can come with us."

The young brunette struggled with her answer, her eyes pleading with Glenn to understand as she turned to Rick and said she'd go into battle with him. Glenn snorted then left, Michonne helping him stumble away from the town of Woodbury and back to the road. Spike just hoped that between them they could hold off any walkers that might still be lingering about.

"Time to move," Rick ordered, and as one they crept back toward the fence, a mission to save this Daryl and Merle first and foremost on their minds.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: For those of you who know Walking Dead as intimately as you do Buffy, I will request you suspend your knowledge for just a moment and assume that the moon stays out for the return to the cars because, as we all know, Spike is flammable. I will fix this in the next chapter ;)

Chapter Three

His first thought when they pulled the smelly sack off his head was that Carol was going to kick his ass. Somehow he was going to get out of this shit storm, make it back to her for her to beat him around the head with something hard, then kick his ass all the way to Woodbury and back. He almost grinned at the prospect. Until his gaze fell on Merle.

There weren't enough words for him to fully describe what the sight of his own brother made him feel. He'd accepted that Merle was gone; not dead, but somehow surviving out there best he could, just like he'd been doing. If he was being honest, it struck him as a surprise that Merle had actually joined another group. Not that it looked like they were over happy with him at present. He couldn't help but wonder what his big brother had done this time for his new group to throw him under the bus. Or what appendages he'd have to lose to get himself out of it.

Merle barely acknowledged him, his expression grave and the blood stopped rushing through Daryl's head long enough for him to hear the roar of the crowd. They were a bloodthirsty bunch, that was for sure, and the one shooting off his mouth and stirring up the crowd couldn't have impressed Daryl any less if he'd tried. They wanted his death—his and Merle's—and yet Daryl didn't feel afraid. These vultures were human. Carol had survived far worse and if she could do it, then shit yeah, he'd be just fine.

When the walkers were led out and chained around the ring, Daryl started to feel a little less confident. It was almost too much for him to wrap his head around, these crazy ass people wanting another human being dead, let alone baying for his blood by way of ravenous walkers in what looked like a fucked up version of Gladiator.

"The fuck?" He turned to Merle and his stomach dropped. There was fear in the eyes of his big brother, and Daryl was sure he'd never seen anything like that before in his whole life. Merle, _afraid?_ That was something that just never happened.

"Jus' stay close, little brother," Merle ordered, his eyes running around the crowd trying to find a way out. His gaze rested on a blonde behind the laughing madman as he announced how Daryl and he were going to die. Settled on her, then shot back to Daryl with that look of fear near capitalized with one of hopelessness.

"Ain't no way I'm dyin' today, Merle. Buck the fuck up," Daryl screamed at him, struggling anew with the ropes around his wrists. Thoughts of Carol forced him to calm down. He'd thought her dead and it was the most hollow he'd felt since the world went to shit and there was no way he was going to make her feel any of that—presuming she would feel anything about his death at all.

Daryl grunted in self-deprecation. Of course she'd feel something—they were friends after all and he knew he was important to her. She'd made it plain enough that she'd hurt should anything happen to him, just as he'd wanted to hide in a corner and stay there for days from the pain in his heart when he'd thought she was gone the same way as T-Dog.

Not today. He wasn't going to let Rick stumble back to the prison and be the one to announce to Carol and the others that he was dead.

In the end it hadn't mattered. They'd untied his hands, deciding on a Gladiator slaughter for show, but, before he'd had to fight his own brother for survival, a flurry of movement caught his attention and violence erupted around the crowd. Gun shots rang through the uproar, taking out a walker's head and Daryl hit the dirt. Rick surged through the bodies, him and Maggie shooting and killing the walkers that circled him and Merle while a small, blonde woman he'd never seen before took on the guards. He noticed she punched and snapped weapons from their hands, crippled them physically so they were on their knees and moaning in pain, but not one of them did she kill. He could appreciate the beauty of her moves, but a little death might have made Daryl feel just a bit better about it.

A flash of black and white blurred past him, Daryl slowly tracking it until his eyes rested on the Governor, now screaming as some kind of monster ripped jagged teeth through flesh. His neck gushed with blood and while Daryl watched, the Governor's body began to drop, a refusal to die glistening in his one good eye, his gun raised and aimed straight at Daryl's head. Was no way he was taking another one to the head and he dived to the side, knocking Merle's legs out from under him and grunting as his brother almost broke his ribs with the impact. He ignored Merle's belligerent attack on his less-than-smooth move as his eyes were once again drawn to the monster draining The Governor dry. The stranger let him fall, and Daryl panted with relief that the gun now dropped meaningless from his hand. The stranger wiped the blood from his lips then gave his head a little shake to settle a more human face into place. Not a walker, then, Daryl realised, though the man was some other scary kind of shit he'd yet to come across.

Merle's hand on his shoulder shook some sense back into him and they ran, Daryl snatching back his crossbow from some asshole that thought he'd had a right to shoot it. They gathered Maggie and Rick on the way through, Daryl not caring if their other saviours followed or not, despite his burning curiosity regarding the blondes that helped to save his ass. Merle led them through and out of the compound and they escaped, running without talking back to the road where they'd left the car. Only when they arrived did Daryl realise Glen had been absent from his retrieval party and one look at the Korean could see he'd not been physically up to the effort. Seemed to be up to waving a gun in his face now as he screamed at them that Merle wasn't coming back to the Prison, though.

He knew in his gut that Glenn had the right. One look at his face was enough to know Merle hadn't changed. There was pride in his work, Daryl could tell without even looking at his brother's smirking face, and his heart sunk. Thinking of Carol had given him the strength to survive his capture, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he'd have to leave with Merle. They didn't want to take Merle back to the prison, he understood it, but it didn't make his choice hurt any less. For the first time he could ever remember, he hated the son of a bitch he knew as brother, and wished he could leave him to fend for himself on the side of the road.

He had no choice.

"No Merle, no me," he told Rick outright and ignored Glenn's outraged, "Are you serious?" If he hadn't he might have buckled, the vision of Carol's face when he found her that day one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He'd saved her and now he was leaving—leaving them all. These folks were his family, but Merle was blood and that had to mean something.

Rick let the argument go without a fight, turning to the others that had now infiltrated their group without any consent from him. He was looking wildly at the samurai chick, _telling _her she'd be leaving them as soon as she was healed and Daryl wanted to tell him he was a fool. With him leaving they'd need fighters, but reminding Rick there could be a backlash made him feel too much guilt for planning to leave in the first place.

"No." The blonde woman stepped in and Daryl could see that, even though she probably weighed less than his crossbow, she was a force to be reckoned with. Rick stopped in mid-tirade, looking dumbfounded that anyone dared to step in when he was obviously the leader and the one calling the shots.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean, no?" Rick was in her face and before Daryl could blink, the strange monster-like man with short curly hair with peroxided tips was at her side.

"Do I need to tell you 'no' again? I thought I was pretty clear."

Daryl felt like he was watching a ping pong match and that it was all about to go to shit. Merle was unnaturally quiet in the background and Daryl could have kissed him as it gave him the time he needed to sort out his head. Despite his claims, he had to make sure they'd get back to the prison safely, and as helpful as this new pair had been, he had no idea who they were or where they came from. They were strangers, and he had to protect the group first and foremost, even if he was leaving it.

"Who the fuck _are _you?" he demanded, ignoring Rick's angry expression.

The girl stepped toward him, tilting her head to look him up and down before extending her hand. "I'm Buffy, and you must be Daryl. This is Spike." Daryl didn't take her hand and she shrugged before dismissing him, giving him her back. He'd usually see that move as a weakness, but by the way her shadow stood, he knew this man had her back and that Daryl wouldn't stand a chance against him.

Her attention was back on Rick and Daryl watched, fascinated.

"No one is getting left behind," she said. It was an order, one that made Daryl's hackles rise.

"Hey, this is our group and Rick's the fucking leader. The fuck you are giving us orders?" He was puffed up and ready to take them on, the consequences be damned when Merle stepped up and Glenn started waving his gun around and screaming at him to back off. The black girl was there, weaving her sword at him through it all, and Daryl couldn't see anything good coming from them going back to the prison, no matter what Blondie said.

"Michonne, put it down." By some miracle the woman obeyed the blonde, lowering her weapon, though Daryl could see she didn't like it. Buffy—what the fuck kind of name was Buffy, anyway?—turned once again to Rick, softening her voice and showing him she wasn't trying to threaten him. "There is safety in numbers," she said and Daryl couldn't argue with that. "You're in a prison, right? So lock the guy up until you know what to do about him, but don't start throwing your friends away because of who they are related to. That is no way to win a war."

Daryl snorted. "An' what do you know about winning a war?"

The man she'd called Spike finally spoke, his hands buried deep inside his duster pockets. "A hell of a lot more than you, I'd wager. The chit knows all about being thrown away by her friends, too, so you should shut up and listen while she tries to save your lilly white arse."

"My _ass _is no concern of yours, punk. We can handle this on our own. Thanks for killing that fucker back there, but maybe it's time you both hit the road." He stepped forward, menacing them into backing away and felt a little intimidated himself when his stance had next to no effect.

"We've been on our own in Georgia, of all places, since this thing broke out," Buffy told them, her lip wobbling just a little. "I left my sister, my friends and my watcher in London while I came to search for Michonne. I don't know if Dawn is alive or dead, or if Giles managed to save anyone or even himself. Spike and I have been on the run, watching each other's backs for almost a year and I'm tired. We're going to this prison with you, and you're all going back if we have to drag you there." She looked at Merle, her lip curling in revulsion.

Spike stared at her intently, and Daryl recognised something in the other man's eyes as he tried to hide his affection for the petite badass at his side. Knowing he was being watched, he shot a look of irritation at Daryl before turning back to face Rick and thumbing at Daryl's brother behind him. "Your car is only a five-seater," he observed, an evil smile moulding his lips. "You'll have to put that one in the boot."

They both ignored the renewed objections from Glenn, Spike moving to the car to pop the lever for the trunk and heading over to grab Merle.

"No fuckin' way you puttin' me in there," Merle hissed, backing away but still looking dangerous. Spike grabbed him by the neck and lifted him off the ground, Merle's face growing red with shock and anger.

"You'll go where Buffy says you go, and not another word about it." He tossed Merle the ten yards to the car and Merle hit the road with a thump, groaning at the impact as he cracked his head.

Everyone stared, mouths hanging open, finally realising that this new man wasn't quite a man. Everyone but Michonne, Daryl noticed.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked in dismay. "An' that back in Woodbury. You fuckin' ripped out the Governor's throat like a walker. What kind of shit is this, Rick?"

Daryl took a step back toward his brother, whipping out his crossbow and pointing it at this new threat. Before he pulled the trigger, the woman was in front of him, aiming her own crossbow in his face with not even a whiff of fear.

"Spike is a vampire. He has a soul and is no threat to you. Lower your weapon." Her voice was as hard as steel and if Daryl were any other man he might have pissed his pants. As it was, he was kind of done with being told what to do, and he was kind of done with the surprises that kept on coming.

"A vampire? You serious?" He snickered, thinking that she must be high, but then he saw the grim expressions on every face surrounding him, guns and swords and knives aimed every which way at whoever each member of the group thought was the threat. The standoff stood, nobody backing down until Merle staggered to his feet, shoving himself between the two arrows and looking a little concussed.

"Ain't no reason to get your panties in a twist, sweetheart. Ol' Merle'll hide away for now. Put it down, Bro," he ordered Daryl, his voice cold with warning. All weapons lowered and Merle went back to the car, stared with hatred at the little blonde with the crossbow before climbing in.

Rick strode to the trunk, slammed it shut then climbed into the driver's seat. Without a word they all trailed after his example, climbing in and each door thunked shut until Daryl was the last one standing, staring at the new couple and hoping this wasn't going to be the thing that got them all killed.

"That prison is ours," he said, his voice harsh and brooking no argument.

"Yes," Buffy agreed. "It is." Then she snatched up Spike's hand before the vampire could say anything and led him to the bike. Daryl stared after them thoughtfully, then climbed into the vacant seat next to Rick. They shared one last look of concern before Rick tore out and took the lead back home.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

They hadn't been travelling long when they had to pull over for a snarl on the road. Buffy hopped off the bike and ran up to the car, a new concern marring her face.

"Hey, how far is it to this prison of yours?" she asked Rick urgently, grabbing his arm and walking him away from the others.

"Another hour at most. Why?" He arched a brow, his stance relaxed though his hand rested on the holster at his hip.

Buffy grinned and jerked her head toward Spike. "Don't know how much you know about vampires, but that whole fable about them going up in flames from the sun is so true. He needs to go in your trunk. Who have you got that can ride a bike?"

He had no idea why this girl's easy grin disarmed him, but his own lips turned up at the ends and he nodded toward Daryl. "Daryl does, and his brother. Not sure how we'd go with Merle back in the car, though." They both looked at Glenn, who narrowly missed becoming a snack when he'd opened the car door blocking the road to release the brake and a walker sprung out aiming for his jugular. He yanked the thing out of the car and stomped its head into the ground repetitively, grunting out his anger and frustration every time his foot sunk into its skull.

"Okay, I'll take Merle," Buffy decided, seeing the wisdom in keeping the two far away from each other.

"You sure?" Rick asked, doubt at how such a slight woman could hold her own against someone twice her size and a hundred times as vile.

"Oh yeah. I've defeated Hell Gods. Merle will be a piece of cake."

A bounce to her step, Buffy walked to the trunk and popped the latch. Merle was lying back, one arm stretched out and cushioning his head, his stump resting against his belly and his knees bent so he looked nice and comfy.

"Spike?" she called out, not minding in the slightest the walkers that were heading their way through the woods. She stared straight into Merle Dixon's eyes. The vampire ambled up to her, grabbed the front of Merle's shirt and yanked him out so he could slide into the vacated space. Her eyes softened for the vampire and she wished him goodnight and slammed the trunk down.

Looking up at Merle hurt her neck. "Okay, big guy…time to ride."

He stared at her, incredulous, and then a thunderous expression spread across his face. Lips thinned, anger in every taut muscle in his body, he thrust his ugly metal stump in front of her face. "Used to ride, dollface. Now I don't have the hands for it."

"Oh." Buffy didn't blush, step back in fear or revulsion, or anything else Merle might have hoped for. She walked back to Rick, Merle shadowing her closely, and shrugged. "Looks like you'll have to have him in the car after all, unless your loose cannon and his girl can do the trip on our bike?"

Glenn stepped away from the car he'd been moving off the road. "Sure. Maggie and I aren't staying anywhere near this asshole." He grabbed his girlfriend's hand and they almost ran to the bike, revved the engine and in the roar that still echoed around the woods, they were gone. Rick watched them go, rays of morning finally breaking through and lightening the approaching day. A tree still blocked the roadway and he looked at it and then stared after the couple with a fierce frown. Buffy saw the frown and ignored it, turning instead toward the trees where some walkers had wandered closer to them. She saw Daryl pacing back and forth watching them, staring after Glenn and Maggie, staring at _her, _and working himself up to a fine sweat over all of it. Buffy rolled her eyes. She'd been so eager to find people—real people—but this wasn't quite shaping up to her expectations. These people were kind of miserable, and were putting her day on a massive downer before it even started. Suddenly she missed Xander and Willow with an aching desperation that left her feeling hollow and emotionally exhausted.

"Where's Michonne?" Buffy asked, trying to at least make conversation.

"She's passed out in the back," Rick said with a certain amount of satisfaction.

Buffy frowned. She'd noticed Michonne had suffered some injuries but the other slayer had put up quite a show of strength so Buffy hadn't thought anything of it. Now she was concerned for her sister slayer and a renewed sense of purpose told her it was time to get moving. Without asking for any help and not even noticing Rick and Daryl's decision to finally move the tree stump, Buffy bent down and grasped the trunk, lifting it until she was able to tumble it down the slight incline on the edge of the road. It hit two of the first walkers that were advancing on them, and while they were taken down she pounced, whipping her scythe from its fastening on her belt and sliced through the top of both heads, then took out another three in a flurry of stabs and slices, the weapon singing in the wind.

The men watched her, riveted with mouths hanging open. They were stunned, first at her superhuman strength and then her amazing fighting prowess.

"Okay, road's clear. Let's get moving." Buffy jumped in the car, sitting in the back seat next to Michonne so that Merle had to squash in on the side. Rick and Daryl got in, slammed their doors shut, and simultaneously looked back at the small blonde girl with the killer attitude.

"What was that you said you were again?" Rick asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

"A slayer. I was the original, only one girl in all the world, yadda yadda, then the First Evil came and we had to step things up a bit and kind of created a world full." She stopped, chewed her lip thoughtfully and looked at Michonne, still unconscious and slumped against the car door. "There's possibly zombie slayers out there now. I really, really hope that doesn't make them a special breed or something."

"And a slayer is a what now?" Daryl asked, his face squinted up with confusion and a small amount of doubt.

Buffy looked him in the eye as she attempted to explain what she was, feeling not for the first time that she was a freak of nature on display, though it had been a long time since she'd felt like that—way back when Riley had introduced her to Maggie Walsh as a slayer rather than your average university student.

"The slayer was made, infused with demon essence, to fight against evil in the world. The official title is Vampire Slayer, but there's all sorts of demons and evil in the world. I've averted at least twenty-five apocalypses, but this…" She looked hard out the window at the new flock of approaching walkers and sighed. "We had no idea this was coming. Spike and I were sent to retrieve a slayer—Michonne—and before we could find her, all this happened. We are stuck here just as much as you are—no way to contact home, no way to know if home even exists anymore." She looked vulnerable for a second and Daryl and Rick backed off a little, Rick finally starting the car.

"Tha's jus' what we need," Merle mumbled. "Another psycho bitch with a sword."

Daryl's eyes widened, wondering if his brother would ever learn the fine art of shutting the fuck up, ready to turn and punch him in the mouth before he caused a new mess they had to clean up, when Buffy smiled brilliantly at his brother.

"Merle, honey, I've defeated a Hell bitch, a giant snake, a suped up guy with rocket launchers for arms, the Master, the First Evil and my first boyfriend." She put her hand on his knee like a lover and then squeezed extra hard, making Merle shout out in pain.

"The fuck you doin', lady?" he spat and Buffy continued smiling.

"Just a friendly warning. I got skills you can't even know, so don't push it or you're gonna find out the hard way."

Merle's whole attitude changed like lightning and Daryl narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"So," breathed Merle in what Daryl could only interpret as a cheesy attempt at seduction, watching closely as his brother's eyes were hooded with sudden sexual interest. "That punk wannabe vampire in the trunk your boy?"

Daryl caught the look of longing in Buffy's eyes before she immediately hid it, but it was enough for Daryl to recognise another comrade, conflicted by their feelings.

"No," she told Merle as she slumped back in her seat, darting a nervous look out the back window. "Spike and I are…"

"Complicated?" offered Daryl, astounded that he might have found someone more like himself than he'd ever thought possible—except this little girl could fight a hell of a lot better than he could. Bet she could throw one hell of a punch, too.

He was surprised how sad her smile was and figured he could read her thoughts before she'd barely had time to process them.

"Spike is my friend, my soul mate. He saves me—every day. He's died for me and every second he's awake he's trying to protect me. But no, we aren't together…like that," she answered Merle, but Daryl could tell by the way her breath hitched in her throat and by the sadness in her eyes, that it wasn't because of choice. He had a feeling these two dumbasses were as stubborn and stupid as he and Carol were, and that felt like an enormous relief.

"Great," he told her, a smirk on his own lips as he shot a sour look at Merle. "More complicated shit is exactly what this group needs."

And Rick kept on driving, his own grin seeming to lift the weight that had been heavy on his shoulders for days.


	6. Chapter 6

AN…Just want to say a major thank you to everyone who takes the time to review. I'm very open to hearing your theories or ideas for this story, so if you're inspired by anything, please let me know!

Chapter Six

Michonne slept the deep sleep of the drug-induced unconscious as Buffy kept watch. She felt mildly claustrophobic in the cell and the chill in the air from being somewhere with such a small amount of natural light bit icily at her flesh. Spike was safe, wandering around the tombs that had no light at all, killing more zombies for this group they'd found themselves amongst, making this haven more safe for all of them. She relaxed in the chair, her hands shaking a little as she raised them to cover her face, and she breathed deeply. It was a breath of freedom, and at that ironic thought, she couldn't hold in the laugh. Freedom in a jail cell; God must be laughing his ass off. Relief was in the absence of moans, locked far away from her now so that Buffy could finally, finally close her eyes and not fear an attack. Not fear another bite.

A presence at the door cleared their throat in warning and Buffy's eyes snapped open. She had a good feeling about these people—for the most part. There were one or two reasons for a niggling worry to settle on her shoulders—Michonne being one of them—but this woman that stood before her now, with her serene calmness and motherly nature, set Buffy completely at ease. She couldn't quite pick Carol's age, the short, grey haircut at odds with her smooth, unlined skin, but she was betting this woman had experienced much in her life, enough that Buffy felt like she identified with her more than the other two girls she'd met: Beth and Maggie. Maggie was probably closer to her in age, but it didn't take long for the slayer to realise that she wasn't that twenty year old girl anymore who was always mired in personal melodrama. Where the first flush of love meant everything in the whole world.

Not that she had a handle on her emotional life these days. Rubbing shoulders with Spike so closely without the clear understanding between them of what they were to each other, made it all the more difficult. But she accepted it, and knew that they'd probably bumble along together forever without anything being settled. Buffy had recognised the very same lack of resolution of feeling between this Carol and the crossbow slinging redneck they'd saved from Woodbury: Daryl. Seen it in the way the woman had run to him, stopping short of flinging herself into his arms, the smile they shared and the longing in their eyes that neither had the courage to act upon.

Carol stepped inside the cell and smiled in that soft way Buffy was quickly realising was her natural inclination. "You hungry?" she asked, jerking her head back to the table set up outside the cell. "I've got some food for you and your friend."

"Oh, I'm so hungry I could eat a horse, but I think Spike might pass. He doesn't really eat human food, unless you've got some spicy chicken wings or flowering onions hidden out there somewhere."

The explanations and introductions had been made as soon as they'd arrived at the prison, but Buffy knew that the thought of a vampire in their midst might take some getting used to—despite the zombies walking around making it screamingly obvious about the existence of other supernatural mysteries in this earth.

"It's nice to have some new people around," Carol said softly instead, and Buffy appreciated the decision to not focus on the vampire and admired the woman anew for not freaking out. "I'm glad Rick decided to trust you enough to bring you back here."

Buffy's lips formed a genuine grin. "I'm not sure we really gave him a choice. Sorry about the Merle thing. We kind of took that one out of his hands, too."

Carol darted a peak over her shoulder, making sure they were alone, then entered into the cell further, looking nervously at the sleeping Michonne before deciding to risk sitting on the end of her bed.

"I want to thank you for that. Rick's had a lot to deal with and maybe making decisions right now isn't the best thing for him to be worryin' about. And…thank you…for Merle. I know no one is happy he's here—except for Daryl, maybe—but I'm glad he is. Daryl needs his brother, if only to know what kind of man he is."

Buffy eyed Carol warily, deciding how far her opinion would really weigh in here. She was so used to calling the shots and knew she had no right to deliver her opinions to this group of people who'd scraped through this harsh world and managed to survive this long without any supernatural powers to fight their way through.

"I don't know either of them, obviously," she started, suddenly deciding that if she could confide in anyone, Carol was her best bet, and she was so tired of not having a friend she could confide her heart to. Spike didn't count when the majority of her thoughts were ones she'd purposely concealed from him. "But…I think Merle might surprise you. He's a lot of bark, and probably a lot of bite, but I think he really loves his brother. I think a lot of his comments, the insults, are a bit of a smokescreen, you know?"

Carol's eyes lit up and completely transformed her face, leaving Buffy momentarily blitzed at how truly lovely she was. "Don't I know it," the older woman confirmed, and then laughed. "I hope you're right. Not sure Daryl could stand to lose him again." She contemplated Buffy, her eyes narrowing slightly as she smirked. "Your vampire seems like an interesting man."

"We've…been through a lot together." That's all Buffy could commit to for the moment.

Carol nodded, obviously knowing how that worked, especially these days.

"You've been alone this whole time?"

"Yup." Buffy sighed, finally grasping that they were not out there by themselves anymore. They had people to form a bond with, food to eat, a more solid chance at surviving this hell on earth. For the moment she refused to allow submission to the pain that she'd probably never see her friends or family ever again.

"We were sent on a mission to retrieve Michonne, take her to London to the Academy so she could learn about being a Slayer. Spike and I had been in the city for a week searching, and then we were just driving out of Atlanta when the bombs hit. I'm really not sure how we even got out of there without realising there were zombies everywhere, or why I wasn't infected. I guess being a slayer gave me some kind of protection, and maybe Spike already being dead meant he repelled them somehow. Doesn't matter. When our car crashed, we learned about them soon enough and we've been on the run ever since. We only stopped for a little while, about a month ago."

Carol was onto her the second she stopped talking, recognising that something had happened that Buffy was reluctant to mention as soon as the slayer broke eye contact.

"What happened a month ago?" Carol's voice dropping low and quiet, somehow sensing that whatever it was, it was big.

Buffy held her gaze, her own green eyes troubled and pained. "I was bitten."

She knew the news would be frightening—especially to people who knew what the consequences of a bite would be—but it still hurt to see Carol flinch away from her, her back hitting the bar at the end of Michonne's bed, preventing her from falling off the end. The woman covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes and then she closed them, took in a deep breath and shook her head as if trying to shake off the fear or a memory or whatever else it was that held her in its grip.

"How…?"

Buffy watched as Carol struggled, struggled against some inner demon the slayer could only guess at. The woman opened her eyes, the tears receding and courage reared up instead.

"You survived," Carol breathed, wonder now creeping in past her natural defences. "Where were you bit?" After the initial shock, her curiosity was evident.

Buffy considered for a minute, knowing that admitting to being bitten was a huge risk and if she'd said it to Rick she'd probably have been shot between the eyes before he'd even asked how long ago it had happened. It was dangerous to trust people these days, but Buffy figured it was also dangerous not to. Without a word, she stood and turned, brushing her long, dark blond hair to the side and stripping back the sleeve of her top. The wound had healed in a jagged line from her neck, across her shoulder and down her back—she'd not just been bitten, she'd been mauled.

"It's a miracle she made it," Spike said from behind them, making them both jump at his stealthy appearance. "Didn't expect her to. No one else has, as far as we know."

Carol observed the turmoil he tried to hide but his face shifted through so many expressions that it would have been impossible not to see how much fear he'd harboured at the thought of losing Buffy. The slayer smiled at him, reaching forward and catching his hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Added benefits of being a slayer: immune to zombie bites," she giggled and Carol marvelled at her ability to laugh about something that must have been incredibly traumatic for the pair.

"Let's not test the theory a second time, Slayer. Don't think my poor old heart could take it." Before he could say anymore, could reveal how deeply devastated he'd been through that time, he was gone, leaving Carol to study Buffy carefully.

"Old?" Carol asked, her brow crinkled in suspicion. "He looks barely older than thirty."

Buffy laughed, snorting suddenly as she looked at Michonne stirring a little in her sleep and tried to reign in her amusement. "Just like Merle, looks can be deceiving. Spike is about…a hundred and thirty-seven now, give or take a year or so."

Carol's eyes widened, her mouth forming a silent 'wow'.

"How long have you been in love with him?" she shot back and Buffy nearly fell off her chair. It shouldn't have surprised her that the woman would have been as observant of her and Spike as she'd been of Carol and Daryl. For some reason she'd thought Carol wouldn't be someone who would talk so quickly about matters of the heart, but maybe she'd been surrounded by such a blatant display of affection between Glenn and Maggie for so long—Buffy saw the signs of young love, even if they were a little more distant with each other since Woodbury—that she was starving for some other kind of relationship to take her mind off her own lack of one. Not that Buffy had missed the sly glances she aimed at Daryl, or the care she went to make sure he ate. Spike had already told her how he thought things stood between the two, and Buffy could see it now, plain as day. She almost laughed, seeing another pair so obviously in love with each other but with no courage to expose themselves in case they got hurt. It'd be funny if her own lack of courage didn't hurt so much.

"Too many years to count," Buffy admitted sadly. "I only got him back just before all this happened. He thought it was better to stay away, and…well, I don't really know why he came back. I was just so glad that he did and then Giles was sending us over here to get Michonne and I guess I never really had the chance to just stop and think about it and work out what I wanted to do."

Her expression was haunted, remembering what those years without him had been like. Zombies aside, this time she'd been able to spend with Spike had been the highlight of her decade. They were together, working side by side to stay alive, just like old times, and yet neither of them seemed to be able to get to a point where they were fully exposed, hearts laid bare.

"How about you?" Buffy asked, an evil angel propped on her shoulder. "How long have you been in love with Daryl?"

Like a deer caught in headlights, Carol blinked rapidly, whipping her head around to look behind her out of the cell. Seeing no one, she let out a relieved breath.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," she denied, chin up and back straight. Then an evil glint in her eye clued Buffy in, that here was a secret they would share between them, and no one else would be the wiser. "Daryl and I are just friends."

"Yeah," the slayer said, smiling with her new co-conspirator. "Friends. Just like me and Spike. We are so a couple of cowards."

Carol snorted, getting to her feet and putting an end to the little heart-to-heart. "Let's go get you some dinner."

Buffy glanced once more at the sleeping Michonne and shrugged. She wasn't going to do anything but waste time watching over the newly located slayer. She was out like a light and Buffy's belly was grumbling loudly, ordering her to follow Carol toward food.

"I hope you guys don't want me to help with the cooking," she said as an afterthought, shuddering at the very real possibility she'd be forced to come up with something inventive with whatever food supplies she was given.

"I'll second that," Spike called from the steps at the other end of the room, amusement making his blue eyes twinkle. "Slayer can ruin a cup of water if you make her pour it."

"Hey!" She stood, indignant, hands on hips and staring at Spike with a frown on her lips. "I can totally pour water. It's putting stuff in it I have a problem with."

Merle's huff of laughter from the opposite corner of the room had her swinging around and pinning him with a glare. "Well, what was yer mamma doin' all those years, not teachin' ya'll how to properly take care of a man?" He eyed her up and down and by the grin that split his face, she could see he liked what he saw. Pig.

"My _mom,_" Buffy said while slowly walking toward Merle and sliding into a seat at the table near him, "couldn't teach me something she didn't know." She shrugged, the memories of Joyce and her glasses of wine over Chinese or Pizza making her smile wistfully. "We had a lot of take out."

"Hey," Spike countered, looking a little affronted. "Joyce could make a mean hot chocolate, and those tiny little marshmallows were pure genius."

Buffy giggled. "Oh yeah, those took some real skill. She totally knew which store to buy them from and everything."

They shared a happy smile, remembering Buffy's mother and happier times when they'd all been so young and relatively innocent. Except Spike—he was never young and a resounding no to the innocent.

Carol placed a steaming bowl of something that looked interesting in front of Buffy and the slayer moaned out loud. All the men sat up a little straighter at the sound, except for Spike who was used to being in a perpetual state of arousal around her anyway.

"Oh my God, how long has it been since we had hot food?" Buffy asked, diving straight in and not even questioning what it was. She'd long ago had to get used to the meat that Spike provided—though she drew the line at having to skin the things, and even with an open fire and a chunk of meat on a stick, she still managed to do little more than char the edges.

Spike looked at how thin she was—not quite gaunt as Buffy always seemed to exist on little more than air anyway, but still smaller than was healthy for her. So he was pleased she had an appetite and he only hoped they could sustain a food source now in order for it to continue .

"Must be a couple of weeks since I've been able to catch anything," he confirmed, barely being able to look away from her as she attempted to slow down after the first few spoonfuls, fixated on her throat as she swallowed each mouthful down, moaning like it was the first meal she'd had in months.

Heavy boots echoed from beyond the gate, indicating someone returning from watch. Rick stood and went to unlock the gate, letting Daryl in and Glenn and Maggie out to take his place on watch, all of them packing serious heat. Daryl strolled over and sat down, gave Carol a nod of acknowledgement as she set a bowl in front of him and he tucked into the food. Everyone watched him finish within a matter of minutes, stand to pass the bowl back to Carol and then lean against a wall, eyes piercing as they settled on Rick.

"Got new people, need a new watch roster," he said and Buffy watched as the two men had a longer conversation through looks alone. Whatever passed between them, Buffy still recognised the level of distrust they'd be foolish not to have for them, and decided to meet them half way.

"How about Spike patrol with Daryl, and I'll team up with Carol?"

"Buffy," Spike protested as Daryl stepped forward, making his disagreement obvious with a resounding, "Hell no."

"You saw what she did on the way back, Rick. Carol's not goin' out there alone with her." Daryl stood his ground, not even flinching when Spike swept to his feet and stared down his nose at the scruffy, dirty, crossbow wielding idiot, finger stabbing the air in front of him as he made his point.

"She wouldn't hurt a fly, you pillock. Your girlfriend is safe as houses."

"Spike?" Buffy pulled on the sleeve of his duster, dragging him out of Daryl's personal space. "It's okay. They'd be stupid to trust us. You know that, and if the roles were reversed, you wouldn't trust them, either."

"Who says I bloody trust them now? Still got to sleep with one eye open in case I cop a stake to the chest. And this idiot," he pivoted and pointed to the one-legged old man who looked like he was in the running to be the next Kris Kringle. "He bloody cracked open the good book while Merle and I were talking weapons and fixing up that nifty little knife on his stump." Spike looked horrified, not expecting to be bombarded with religion on the inside of a prison.

"A bible won't kill you, Spike," Buffy giggled, and Spike relaxed.

"No, but the bloody cross on the front might burn a bit," he admitted, sheepish as he backed off. Turning back to Daryl and shooting him a well-earned glower, he clamped his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. "Who do you suggest, then? Slayer could kick all your arses right over the fence, so whoever it is better be someone you don't give a crap about."

Daryl and Rick did that weird invisi-conversation thing again and in some freakish ability no one could comprehend, they came to a decision.

In perfect unison, they offered up Buffy's new watch partner. "Axel."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: My apologies that this has taken so long. I am a little overwhelmed with other things at the moment—including school holidays, a unique form of torture if ever there was one! I am still formulating the plot for this fic, which is why it is moving a little slower than my others, as well as trying to combine characters from two shows is a little more complicated than I anticipated. Now I know why I've never tried it before. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed so far. I really appreciate you reading and your feedback. Please keep on and offering any ideas. You never know when something might spark a new direction.

Just noticed I've mucked up the numbering of this fic. The previous chapter is called chapter 6 but it's actually 5. When I feel up to it I will swap that out and fix it.

Chapter Six

It felt like a month since Daryl had managed to be in the same place with Carol and also find themselves alone. It had only been days since he'd found her, dehydrated and weak after she had been missing for more days before that. She'd recovered well, looking strong and serene as she dealt with the incessant needs of the group—this time folding, methodically laying everything out in piles in their common room. The clothing piles weren't large and he knew that they'd have to go on a run soon, try and top it up before winter hit and they were even more chilled in these tombs than they were already. The piles of sheets, blankets and pillowcases seemed huge in comparison, and Daryl felt a slight smile tease at his lips. If all else failed, he had faith that Carol could outfit them all in highly fashionable togas. Could be the way the world was heading, for all he knew.

She knew he was there, standing silent and watching her, and she didn't seem self-conscious at all. For some reason that disappointed him, making him wonder if he really did only mean as much to her as a good friend would, and nothing more.

"What do you make of the new people?" he asked, needing to break the silence between them before his head started to echo with Merle-like accusations and name-calling.

She finished folding a sheet, carefully placing it on the pile furthest from her and smoothing it out. Then she turned, her face a study of warmth, her cheeks tinged pink, and he hoped that maybe she wasn't so unaffected by his presence as he'd first thought.

"I like Buffy," she confided, and he nodded, having known that she would. The girl was guileless, saying what she thought and holding nothing back. They certainly had no grounds to accuse her of keeping secrets. She'd spun the story of her vampire friend, her supernatural title of slayer and then displayed her astounding strength and fighting skills like it was absolutely nothing new or shocking. And in this new world where they found themselves stranded, maybe she was right.

"Saw her move a tree off the road like it was a toothpick," he said, stepping closer to her and wanting to rest his hand on her waist so bad he had to bite his lip to control the impulse. "You be careful 'round her. Don' think she'll hurt you but I don' want you takin' any chances."

Carol nodded, staring so deep into his eyes that he couldn't pull away. "And Spike?" Her voice was barely above a husky whisper and he swallowed hard as she took another tiny step closer to him, almost like she couldn't help herself.

"Truth be told, the both of 'em could bend us in half an' wipe the floor with us in seconds, but we don' have a choice. Can't be picky no more. World out there's not the same as it was. The good guys are a few down on the bad, looks like."

"Okay, I am dutifully warned. I'll be careful. I promise."

His insides started a slow boil that built with the warmth of her smile. He tore his eyes away with difficulty, looking over the area they usually used for meals and discussions and couldn't help but be impressed with how clean it was. It was a good distraction, anyway, until he felt her hand close around his forearm and he almost jumped right out of his skin.

"You seen how he makes puppy dog eyes at her?" Carol's fingers curled gently around his forearm, like she had no idea his body was now on high alert. Like she had no idea how her touch affected him. He gulped, hard, and pretended he didn't notice that she was touching him at all.

"I seen how she makes 'em back," he admitted, his voice rough and gravelly, with the merest hint of a squeak.

"Kind of dumb of them when they so obviously love each other. I wonder what's holdin' them back?"

Carol's hand hadn't moved, and Daryl was wondering, hoping, that maybe she was talking about more than the new couple that had found safety behind their prison walls, because with her small hand on him he wanted to stop being dumb. Right in that moment he had no idea what had been holding _him_ back all this time.

"Maybe we can do somethin' to help 'em along a bit?" He had no idea what he was suggesting, never having had the need to be a matchmaker before, but whatever words had just spilled out of his mouth he could see how it lit up Carol's eyes and made them sparkle like precious jewels.

"I could get behind that, but I don't know how successful we could be. Pushing those two together might need an Act of God considering how long they've been avoiding their feelings."

"Ain't no God at work in this world no more. Thought you knew that?" He hadn't meant to be harsh, and he expected her to flinch. She didn't though, instead her brow curled in thought.

"I suppose there's always the seduction route," she said, her eyes suddenly distant as she entertained some idea he wasn't privy to in her head.

"The what now? You're spinnin' bullshit now, ain't ya? As if I'd stand by while you went and tried to _seduce _a vampire. Don't you know nothin' about these things? He'd suck your blood an' don't think he won't. Saw what he did to the Governor an'…"

"Daryl, I didn't mean me," she giggled. Giggled, like he was some kind of stupid asshole to even think she'd meant her. Why the hell _not _her, he thought, feeling light headed with trying to work out what exactly was happening with his support swinging back and forth like a tennis match. "I'm way too old for him. Maybe we can get Beth to make a play for him, though—she's young and pretty and blonde."

"You know what, woman?" Daryl licked his bottom lip nervously, suddenly extremely uncomfortable with any of the women from his group trying to seduce a vampire, but especially Carol. "How 'bout we leave it to them to sort out? Must be a reason why they're bein' dumbasses about it."

Carol beamed at him, and finally lifted her hand off his arm. Losing her touch was a shock, his flesh freezing so suddenly he wanted to thrust it into a fire to feel the warmth again.

"You're right," she conceded, and Daryl hefted an enormous sigh of relief. "If they want to avoid bein' with each other when it's the end of the world, then that's on them." She looked up at him through lowered lashes and his heart rate sped up. "I'd hate for anyone else to be such a dumbass about avoidin' love, though. There's just not enough time to be playin' those sorts of games." Her eyes were knowing as she picked up the pile of sheets in one arm and skimmed her hand over his belly before she left the room. He felt like he'd been struck by lightening, his muscles clenching against the overly familiar touch as his blood started to rush to his head, and not the one he was used to thinking with.

Now, he just _knew _she wasn't calling _him _a dumbass.

Was she?

* * *

Rick Grimes was many things. He was an ex-officer, an ex-best friend, an ex-husband and now he was an ex-member of the society of the sane. He'd started to see them—Shane at Woodbury during the gunfight to get Maggie and Glenn out, and now he was seeing Lori around the prison. He didn't know what she wanted with him but he felt helpless about leaving her to it. Underlying all of this, though, was his fear that if he didn't get his shit together soon, he might end up being an ex-leader and an ex-father to boot.

Carl was always watching him these days, but the boy's eyes had narrowed and watched him even closer since he'd returned from Woodbury. Returned with two strangers and one who wasn't but who they all wish could have been. Knowing Merle's past with the group made it all the harder to have him around, but sadly Daryl's brother didn't appear to be going anywhere. At least for the moment they had him restrained, though Rick knew that couldn't last much longer.

He looked out on the yard, cracking a rusty grin as he witnessed some altercation with Axel and their newest fighter—a pipsqueak of a girl that looked like she could barely lift her own arms, let alone swing her weapon with such brutal efficiency. Axel was way out of his league and Rick found it amusing that the ex-con didn't even seem to know it.

Hershel shuffled up beside him and they stood quietly on the catwalk, observing the show. Axel's greasy pickup lines flowed up to them and Rick barely held in the urge to laugh out loud, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. Maybe even months.

"New people," Hershel started, his own voice tainted with the humour of Buffy and her avoidance tactics—she'd walk away from Axel and then he'd come skipping up behind her and try his luck once again. "Seems like they might be good people, even if one is already dead."

Rick nodded. He'd learned to second guess his gut feelings about people. Ever since his best friend had turned on him—preferring him dead so he could take things back up with Lori. He wanted to say he could trust these people that now depended on him for their lives—wanted to trust Daryl, Hershel, Glenn and found that he just couldn't loosen himself enough to risk it. If he were to be truthful to himself, the only one of them he trusted without doubt was Merle and his desire to put a bullet in his head.

"Yeah," Rick said in his lazy, non-committal drawl. "They'll be good allies in a fight—as long as they stay on our side. That little girl," he flicked his head in the direction of Buffy just as she looked up and found them watching her. She gave them a super-sized smile and blew them a kiss and waved before turning to do another lap of the fence. "She's stronger than all of us put together," he admitted darkly, and that was where his discomfort lay. It was hard enough to admit being vulnerable in this new world—it wasn't hard to walk through every day scared for your life when it was no secret the world wanted you dead. This girl and her boy seemed like a good deal, but how could he be _sure._ It was the uncertainty that was killing him. He'd been so confident that the protection the fences had offered around the prison would mean safety for the group, and yet they'd lost T-dog. They'd lost Lori. How could he know who would be next, or if in a year's time any of them would be left standing? How did he know that kicking these two out might be the very thing that killed them all? Spike had already cleared out the tombs and at least one other cell block, quickly making his way forward to the front of the prison so they could seal it all the way around. It would have taken them weeks to achieve what the vampire had in just one night and Rick was grateful. Grateful enough to recognise that he couldn't kick them out—and that meant Michonne was staying as well.

"How's the other girl doing?" he asked as if suddenly remembering the girl with the sword who he'd been forced to trust so he could save Glenn and Maggie.

"She has a concussion and a number of wounds, but she seems to be fighting it and healing much faster than I've ever seen anyone do before. I think there might be a grain of truth in this story Buffy has told us." Hershel looked at Rick, his brows knitting together as he contemplated such a far-fetched tale.

"Well, we're believin' the dead are up and walking about these days, so why the hell not believe there's such things as vampires and slayers?" Rick stepped back from the catwalk barrier fence, suddenly feeling more weary than when he'd arrived back from Woodbury. More broken than when he'd stuck Shane with his knife. What they all needed now was some hope. He just hoped these new people would give it to them.

* * *

It had been close to a year since Spike had been on a separate clock to Buffy. A year since he'd had a place to sleep so perfect for his needs. He'd taken a cell furthest from them all, thinking it would cut down on the noise so he could sleep—not that he'd been wrong, or that it had truly been a concern. As a vampire he could sleep anywhere as long as it was dark, and when he was dead to the world, he was dead. Fear had no hold over him while he slept—being a vampire dictated the urgency to find a safe place to lay his head during his downtime as once sleep overtook him, there was nothing, short of a slayer throwing something at his head, that could wake him.

Buffy hadn't wanted him to disappear into the tombs to find a cosy little spot to lay his head. She wanted them to stick together in case anything happened and they had to leave suddenly. She didn't want to lose time trying to seek him out in the dark—not that it would matter if the sun was shining when disaster struck.

So, while the slayer adjusted her inner clock to suit those of the new mates she was trying to form a bond with, he was sleeping in a cell, knowing that one night he might not be any more than a pile of dust, depending on the whims of others. It all hinged on Michonne and whether she carried around a pointy stick. Buffy trusted her—Buffy had trusted all slayers until they'd given her reason not to. Spike was thankful he'd not been with her in those early years because trying to protect himself from hundreds of newly powered up girls with an automatic urge to lay waste to all vampires would have been exhausting. But now, there was just the one and whether Buffy liked it or not, this one was already proficient with a weapon, already damaged by the dead. He wasn't sure if it was a vampire that had put those shadows in her eyes, but he knew enough to recognise it was something dead.

His eyes shot open as the sun started its descent. He could hear voices further out in the common area, a few whispered ones closer by, but the most prominent one of all was the one who'd been shown to a cell and had the door firmly locked behind him. Merle. Spike grinned. He'd taken an instant interest in the redneck, recognising a bit of himself in his younger, more brash vampire days in the older man, though the vulnerability was hidden a lot deeper than Spike had ever been able to bury his. If nothing else he could get in a good fight with one so easy to rile, and that could be a whole lot more fun than he'd had in a good while.

"Hey now, Officer Friendly. You can' keep me locked up in here forever. Can't exactly show my worth locked away in the dark." The cackle that burst from Merle's throat drew one of his own and Spike laid back and contemplated it. There was a slight shade of hysteria hidden in the man's depths and he recognised the signs of panic that Merle was succeeding at hiding from the rest of them, but couldn't from him. He knew what it was like to feel trapped—to be hated by everyone and everything around you. He'd known it intimately the year he'd been chipped, chained in Rupert's bathtub with the jeering, callous comments from Buffy and her friends hitting him harder and harder as his time went on. Oh, he knew what it felt like to be trapped, to feel useless and not be able to do a damn thing about it.

Damn his soul, now he was feeling sympathy for a man who he was sure little deserved it. He'd seen the Korean boy's face—had heard the story of Merle's vicious attack, and while he understood the redneck's desperation to have news of his brother, he couldn't condone the method. It was little wonder these people hadn't killed him the second he'd been driven through the gates and Spike knew it was only the respect the younger one had from the rest of the group that had so far kept Merle alive.

Spike sighed. Looked like he was overdue for his good deed for the day.

Sitting up he put on his boots, taking time to do up the laces just right, and wondered if Merle ever got to take off his boots anymore. Laces would be a bitch with only one hand. He'd got the short story of how that had happened, illuminating this group's history with the Dixon brothers, and felt another measure of sympathy for the bloke. Maybe he wouldn't be up for a bit of rough and tumble after all. Maybe the way to shock Merle Dixon was to treat him with a bit of gentleness. Maybe the way to tame the beast was by caring for it, and if anyone suggested Spike had gone soft over the years, all they'd have to do is see how he looked after Buffy and know it was the truth.

Launching himself to his feet, he shrugged on his duster and strode out of the cell, looking for Rick so he could offer to take on Merle duty. He might even take him into the tombs to help clear more dead out of the place. Spike wouldn't be surprised if the group wouldn't appreciate giving their ears a rest from Merle's often too shrewdly aimed but ill-timed sarcastic humour.

Rick was still close by Merle's cell, the one-handed man standing surly at the bars, his only hand clasped around one sturdy bar, his arm hanging at his side and his face mashed up against the metal. He was staring through the door at the ex-officer, his eyes revealing to Spike that simmering panic that he'd sensed before but of which Rick seemed completely oblivious.

"Rick," Spike called, stopping in front of the cell, hands in his pockets. "Thought Merle and I could go clear out some more of the tombs. Might be some surprises in there you lot haven't discovered yet. Maybe a library?" Spike shrugged, aimed a head jerk in Merle's direction and with determination displayed in the set of his lips and the gleam in his eyes, he managed to convince Rick it was a workable solution without another word spoken.

Rick nodded and the jangling of the prison key chain rebounded off the cement walls, the key scraping in the lock and the door screeching on its hinges as it swung open and Merle took a step out. His chest swayed with his heavy, relieved breaths and Spike smirked, leading the way off the perch and down the steps to the lower level. Merle ambled along behind him, trying to hurry without appearing like he was.


End file.
